Gods & Monsters
by TheOnlyPotato
Summary: Who does Finnick go to when he needs to cope with his first appointment? Why, the only one that understands of course. A slightly dark Haymitch x Finnick pairing because now I ship it.


**Finnick x Haymitch pairing. Now before you flame me, I want to shout out to Howlynn (if she's still active) for allowing me to think of this pairing in a better light. I can understand where it comes from and I also ship it now. To be fair though, I ship Haymitch with everyone. EV. ER. Y. ONE.**

**Now onto the story!**

**Gods & Monsters**

You asked for it. Scream, scream, scream all you want but they're not coming, sweetheart, they're not coming. Screams fade into the darkness to mask the moans of ecstasy and the begs for more, more, more because I don't have enough, I _never_ have enough, I never _give_ enough. Yes, I know. Don't remind me. I'm scared. So, so, so scared. Why don't you protect me? Protect me… incoherent thoughts, fame; liquor; love. None of it is real… real… and I realize…

I've sold my soul to the devil.

_In the lands of gods and monsters, I was an angel  
>Living in the garden of evil<br>Screwed up, scared, doing anything I needed  
>Shining like a fiery beacon.<em>

The knife glides across smooth, porcelain skin and my eyes roll back into my head. I can feel him moving inside of me, but all I can focus on is the knife on my skin and the heavy, labored breaths above me. It's cold, cold like the icy glare from the Careers as we fought and killed in unison.

I don't know what's more terrifying, knowing that I _can_ kill this man on top of me or not being able to.

I'm so caught up in my thoughts, I almost don't register that he's stopped moving and he's slumped on top of me, heavy and unmoving. I don't know what to say, or where to go after this. What does one do after being raped?

_They kill themselves_, a devilish voice in the back of my head snarls. I can't, though. It would be putting everyone, everyone at risk. _Every. Fucking. One._

"Get out," the man murmurs, and my eyes slide to the clock. It's five forty-five. His wife will be home at seven, I remember. Carefully I slide from under him and go through the movements of picking up my clothing – shirt, pants, heels… where the fuck are my earrings – as I murmur 'thank you' and 'that was amazing' under my breath.

"Your money is on the high bar," he growls angrily. Like some dollar slut, I take the money from where he directed me. I whisper one last night goodbye before sliding out the door. _Don't cry, don't cry, don't cry,_ I will myself mentally.

_Go ahead and cry, release yourself_, the voice snaps at me. I want to obey and break into sobs right there but instead I make my way towards my car, opening the door drily and robotically. I don't even smirk at my voice over the radio as I usually do. I don't shine, not like I used to. I've lost my fire.

_In the lands of gods and monsters,  
>I was an angel,<br>Looking to get fucked hard  
>Like a groupie incognito,<br>Posing as a real singer  
>Life imitates art<em>

Where does one go after this? After gaining everything I've ever wanted what do I do now? Now I sulk in my room, drink away my sorrows and wish I was dead. That seems logical. I want to do that.

I never get what I truly want. I never, ever, get what I truly want because there's always some asshole that always stops me. I see his hand curl around the neck of the bottle before I see _him _and he's there all mussed dark hair and sad, gray eyes.

"You?"

"Me… you?"

"Me…" He trails off, shrugging and snapping the seal o the bottle. "Let's drink to our wonderful President, shall we?" I grin sarcastically and take the bottle from him, and taking a long drink. He never smiles, just carefully guides me to the couch to drink. So tender and yet so rough looking. Enticing.

I don't know where it goes wrong from there. I don't know how I fuck up so bad. I just do. I always do.

And suddenly I have him captured with my lips and his fingers are running through the bronze locks of my hair and neither of us can breathe. Suddenly his teeth are scraping my collar bone and there's such a wild look of possession in his eyes. For the first time in a while now, I feel like I'm not property. I'm human. And that's just what I need to forget.

_You got the medicine I need,  
>Fame, liquor love;<br>Give it to me slowly  
>Put your hands on my waist,<br>Do it softly  
>Me and God, we don't get along,<br>So now I sing,  
>"No one's gonna take my soul away,"<br>Living like Jim Morrison  
>Headed towards a fucked up holiday,<br>Motel, speed squeeze,  
>and now I'm singing<br>"Fuck yeah, give it to me  
>This is heaven<br>What I truly want is  
>Innocence lost, innocence lost."<em>

"I can't love."

"I don't need love."

"I can't… I can't be tender and gentle with you either. I'm going to hurt you. I'm going to fuck up so bad, I'm always going to fuck up so bad."

"That's alright, everyone makes mistakes."

"There is no hope for me."

"There's no hope for anyone, Haymitch. There's no one to save us. I don't hold out hope for you or anyone else that I lo- like. Look, we don't have to have strings attached. I couldn't if I tried," I reply with a simple shrug. Big, sea green eyes stare up at him and he can't say no to me now, I've got him wrapped around my pinky finger.

Instead he kisses me and pins me back to the bed so we can forget one last time before I have to go. Forget the hell we've trapped ourselves in, forget the feeling of blood coating our hands and face and everywhere else.

Now, we can _forget_.

* * *

><p><strong>R&amp;R please! It's greatly appreciated!<strong>


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